Taken from the biographical sagas of Chief Cunt-Stubble Schlong-Bonk, Bellendium Cunt-Stabulary.
“…and then the rusty looking gentleman went running down the street.”
Schlong-Bonk looked the woman up and down, an incredulous look on his face. He had never seen this woman in his life and could not understand why she would burst into his office unannounced…and midsentence.
“Who in the name of Django the Fierce are you? And what’s all this about a rusty looking gentleman? Why don’t you sit down and start from the very beginning.” That’s where the Cunt-Stubble liked his stories to start. They seemed to make more sense that way.
The woman sat down on the chair across from him. She was dripping wet and rather distraught. It was evidently raining outside, or inside as was prone to happening during Bellendium’s freak storm season.
“I’m so sorry. I should have knocked first. My name is Eliza Tankwater Grimfonte. I came because I have witnessed a crime and I didn’t know where else to go.” She began to well up so Schlong-Bonk handed her a towel. A tissue would have been hopeless as she was still drenched. And his interest had been peaked. He’d heard that surname before.
“Grimfonte you say? The Grimfonte’s of Belltrim Manor? You people are world famous. Didn’t your Great Grandfather invent some kind of house coating? Like breadcrumbs but for buildings.”
“You seem to talk a lot for someone who asks so many questions. If I had said no to your first line of questioning you would have subsequently wasted a lot of time. Luckily for you I am who you think I am. And yes, my Great Grandfather was the inventor of PebbledashTM and that is how we made our fortune…overseas. Now, can we get back to the crime?”
Schlong-Bonk grinned. He liked this girl. She had spunk. He liked spunk. He also liked justice. Hard justice.
“Tell me about the crime. How many people were murdered? Was there blood everywhere? Gosh, this sounds like a hard case already. Where’s my whiskey”
“No, it’s nothing like that. There was a burglary at the manor and the culprit took something very important. It was a large portrait of my grandfather, Ezekiel Pebbledash Grimfonte. You have to help me get it back.”
“You want me to get a picture back? That’s it? No murder, no blood, no entrails hanging from lampshades. All sound a bit boring really. But I suppose since it’s a Sunday and I have nothing better to do I’ll help. Now what did he look like?”
She looked at him puzzled. “Well, kind of like me really. Only older and a man. Oh, he was starting to fade slightly on the left side of his face…”
“I didn’t mean your grandfather. I meant the burglar. Did you see his face? How tall was he? I need descriptions you dumb broad.” He honestly couldn’t believe someone could be that thick.
“He was long and gangly. He was incredibly pale too. I thought at first that it was the light in the room but when he turned and looked at me I saw that it was his skin. He had the complexion of Scotts Porridge Oats. It was all lumpy and deformed. He also left a horrible orange stain on the carpet. That’s why I was referring to him as the rusty man at the start of this story.” She looks out as if to an audience and smiles. Then she continues, “And he smelled awful. Like a rancid flannel used for cleaning decrepit lady gardens. Do you think we’ll find him?”
“I’m sure of it. From what you’ve told me there is only one person it could be. Oddwich Sandjob. A mental bastard of a man who loves stealing shit that no one else cares about. He’s dangerous and ginger. And I know where to find him.”
“Where?” She felt worried. Why had a crazy ginger person stolen the only picture of her grandfather. What could he possibly want with it?
“Just leave it to me. I want you to take a carriage out of town and stay away for a few weeks. It won’t be safe to go back to the manor until this is all over. Understand?”
She looked at his the way someone would look upon a hero. “I will. Be careful.” She leaned over the table and kissed him on the cheek. Then she turned and walked out the door. From the window, Schlong-Bonk watched her get into a carriage and as the horses pulled around the corner he sat back down in his seat.
He looked at the calendar on his desk. “Three days until retirement,” he thought to himself. “Like fuck am I chasing after a painting of the worst exterior decorator in the world. I’m moving to Clitoria where the weather is warm and the drinks are always flowing.”
He grabbed his coat and hat, dowsed the lamp and opened his office door. He glimpsed his name on the door. ‘Chief Cunt-Stubble Schlong-Bonk’ it read. He had always meant to take that hyphen out. He smiles to himself and walked out into a now dark Bellendium.
*****
Ezekiel "Pebbledash" Grimfonte was a man of unfortunate proportions and unnatural speed. Born with his left leg twenty four inches shorter than his right, he came to be recognised by his distinctive unicycle, which he wore strapped to the runtling limb.
The son of a minister, he would forever be haunted by the shame of his mother, who had knowledge of his father's favourite horse. It is believed that this massive trauma is what caused the horrendous malformation of Ezekiel's hind leg. His forelegs were shaped in such a manner as to be taken at first glance as arms, although his hands were suspiciously hoof like, albeit hooves with the inner glow of religion.
At the age of fourteen, Ezekiel developed a taste for strong liquor and artificially coloured foods, which, coupled with his fragile stomach, resulted in the nickname "Pebbledash".
His teenage years were tragic ones, due largely to the discovery that he was not granted super powers by Earth's yellow sun. He would spent his days wheeling around the country, often heard to be muttering "dun duru dunturun, dun duru dunturun, dun duruduuun dun dun dun!" This was invariably followed by a failed attempt at one such super power or another. It is reputed that he once glared at a candle for three days before resorting to matches. After numerous failed treatments, his father twated him with a Bible, and brought him to his senses.
For years following the twat about the skull, he was only able to speak with a faux Japanese accent, which many mistook for racism. It wasn't. It was brain damage.
At the age of twenty five, he fused the unicycle to his freakishly short goat leg, becoming the world's first true cyborg, resulting in a dependency on WD40, from which he would never recover, hating, as he did, the squeak if an ungreased wheel.
As a result of this cyber enhancement, he was able to walk at super sonic speeds, but only if he was in the mood, and providing the weather was right.
Perhaps it is worthy to note that his eyes were a peculiar shade of green, enabling him to feed using photosynthesis, a skill which aided him greatly during his years spent imitating a shrub.
His death was a tragic one. He had, in his last few days, taken to growing blue fur all over his body, strapping carving knives to his hands and screaming "I AM an xman!".
Of course, he was not, and the lack of a mutant healing factor eventually killed him, after he fell off a cliff.
Grimfonte currently spends his time in the afterlife, where he drinks gin with Amitabah Buddha and bullies the living Christ.
About the author:
Lord Professor Vivian Smartie-John is a world class Expert. Don't argue.
*****
This is an excerpt of Jon Eseikiel Pebbledash Grimfonte's eulogy, delivered by is oldest friend Medi Hydref Jones.
I had many nicknames for Jon. My best and oldest friend. I remember the first day we met in the Super Nintendo games isle in Woolworths. We both went to pick up the same copy of Earthworm Jim 2 AT THE SAME TIME! Coincidence? Yes, and an important one to us it was too.
I suppose it's not very often that you saw a young girl pick up a copy of such a cool game but when he saw me, the first things he did was push me over. I cried and cried and kicked him in the shins and cried some more. I think Jon forgave the shin kicking but he always says that his mother came to stop him from reacting to that. He gave me the copy of the game and then sulked to his mam and walked off.
He was still sulking on the bus on the way home. I was surprised to see him on my route. He was quiet but i've never seen him on my bus. And then he got off at my stop! What was this? Was he new? I had to know! "Oi, boy." I said. I know, i was nuts wasn't i. I could tell he heard me, even though the bus was pulling off. Stupid bus. "Where do you live? I live just up the road by the old park that's now a nothing. It's like a slab of tarmac."
"I've just moved near there." He told me.
"Okay, then. So do you want to come over mine and play Earthworm Jim 2? We can go life each or something." I said. Our mother's smiled at each other. I don't know why, but they did.
"Oh. Ok then. Can i go after dinner, mum?" Yeah, he called her mum. That meant he wasn't from here. We say "Mam" down here in South Wales. This boy was interesting.
"My name's Medi Hydref Jones." I said.
"Im Jon" he said with a frankness that never left him.
The first nickname i gave his was Earthworm Jon and he liked that I think. He played along and went to hit me with a snot string which was gross but also the funniest thing i've ever seen, ever.
We were close ever since, and i've called him everything I could think of, often depending on his mood. Zeek when he was in a fun and helpful mood. Pebbles during his dimmer moments. I called him Grim often during his adolescence because he was capable of being a stropy-bottom.
I grew to depend on Jon. I remember the day i lost Stupidface my pet cockateel. Stupidface was a sprightly bird and evaded my grasp when i was cleaning his toes. I remember the tears spewing out of my eyes and nose when i told Jon who simply said "Stop crying. I'll get him. Do you want him alive or dead?". My face must have looked like a confused walnut when he said that, but it stopped me from crying. He knew me.
I didn't see him for 2 hours. To this day i don't know how he did it but he brought Stupidface back to me in one piece. It honestly was the same bird, I know because his toes were clean. That day his nickname was "Huntsman Care-hands".
I remember the day I fell in love with Jon. I suppose it was the the day i realised i was in love with him. We were always close. Gosh, we were attached. While we were at university, he studied what he loved; Women. And history. He'd come to my room every night he could to tell me about both. He got attached to his lecture Mrs Shallnotbenamed and they were doing things that i probably shouldn't be talking about at his funeral, so i wont. Needless to say, he needed me, and i needed to say that. This was the first time i was needed by him. He was always my knight and i, his damsel. But as the round table turned i found my self, not only caring about his feelings but i wanted to show him that i could fulfill them, like he had fulfilled mine.
The night i told him, bared my feelings, i was overjoyed to find that they were reciprocated. I dubbed him "Lancealittle" and he smiled before proceeding to show me that his new nickname was inaccurate. We made sweet, passionate sex and he died of unknown causes.
I've never felt such sorrow as im feeling today. I love you Zeek. You shall forever remain in the little loving heart of Medi Hydref Jones.
-Later Mrs Grimfonte slapped Medi in the face and a fight broke out between former best friends Mrs Grimfonte and Mrs Jones. It was a pretty awkward wake.-
*****
Ezekiel Grimfonte Jr, son of a fruiterer and a maniac, achieved more than could have been expected of him. Born in the early hours of a misty Wednesday morning sometime long ago he came writhing and screaming into the world, covered in his birthing gore and as unseemly as that would imply. His father, a fruiterer, remembered that it was on a Wednesday because when the babe was finally quieted, the bin men came to pick up the bins. Ezekiel Grimfonte Sr, also known as Le Grand Zeke for his astounding rise to be the head fruiterer in all the land, was a man who put great store in the bins, specifically their removal. Unfortunately for Zeke Jr, he put far less interest into his son.
Ickle Zeke, as he came to be known by some, could have been doomed from an early age, for while his father cared not a jot for him, he was drowned in the affection of his psycho-, socio-, telepathic mother, Imelda Staunton Grimfonte, nee Miles Davis. She was a maniac, and often threw her baby boy down things: stairs, mineshafts, matter transporter tubes, straws, throats, gutters, the gaping maws of long-dead stegosauruses and the like. He was quite fortunate not to be killed, or badly grazed. Fortune smiled on young Zeke, however, for on his fourth birthday his mother was caught in the beam of a Cosmic Ray, which had asplode from the sun and she evaporated INSTANTANEOUSLY into a poof of potpourri. Ezekiel Sr was unconcerned, having long ago wearied of his wife, and quickly and pragmatically arranged for a tutor and carer for his son.
His father selected Salvador Dali for the task, and the Spaniard, his queer moustache dancing merrily in the antici…pation set about his task with aplomb. Realisation that one single plomb would not be sufficient, El Salva ordered in an entire bunch of plombs to undertake the care of his new charge. Perhaps unsurprisingly Salvador Dali's tutoring revolved mainly around art and facial hair maintenance, although he also had an unexpectedly nifty talent for shooting a man's left nut with an air rifle from any angle. He could even accomplish this with one hand restrained behind his back and with a slender lady rubbing her thumb and forefinger together in front of his face and making repeated flicking noises with her tongue. Ickle Zeke never mastered the air rifle to that extent, but he was a dab hand at the old art. Ol' Sally was proper pleased when Zeke started to flail a paintbrush, and rewarded him with unwanted sexual attention.
Zeke Sr was not a man who like art, it transpired, and he had hired Salvador Dali purposefully in order to come to hate his son. At 17, Zeke Jr broke Salvador Dali's heart by emigrating to Papua New Guinea in order to escape his father's ire. At least, that's what he told them he was doing. In reality, he was going to the moon!
He didn't have the means to do so though, so he only got as far as the top of a nearby hill, and jumping ineffectually there he lost enthusiasm and went home.
He returned to his father's manse to find Salvador Dali's emulsified corpse dangling from a balustrade. He was an odd man, even in suicide. Zeke Jr quickly left the house again, weeping thick matte tears of deepest lavender, as Salvador would have wanted.
In order to fill the gap Zeke sought out Pablo Picasso, who had eloped from his native land with a dusky Romany beauty named Masskkerrinne le Guaravadiere. He had taken to referring to himself as Portmanteau Zippedeedoodahday le Guaravadiere, and he grabbed Ickle Zeke by the ear at the mention of Dali, and forced him to run barefoot across a stony beach. It was at this point that Picasso, drunk from chasing both the dragon and the green fairy, began referring to Ickle Zeke as 'Pebbledash'.
Ezekiel Grimfonte was fucking pissed off with that, and got his revenge years later when he invented the technique of pebbledashing, and for his first public demonstration of it, decided to pebbledash Picasso. Picasso was less than pleased, but he was a bit of a dick, so fuck it.
Later, Pebbledash invented the internet, apple crumble,and quicksand, as well as winning the Boer and Vietnam wars double-handedly and then he died, of fog.
The End.
*****
Luke Sampson
Gethin Down
Dafydd Evans
Adam Gilder
